


Gifts

by Zip001



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, jonsacreatives challenges, photo prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 00:50:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12024606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zip001/pseuds/Zip001
Summary: This was my first attempt of filling the jonsacreatives photo prompt. I was ambitious and wanted to write a ficlet that included all five photos - sandor clegane bundled up for snow, map of volantis, ice skates, pizza and sunflowers. I gotta tell you that it was tough and the writing got a bit tortuous as I tried to bend the story to fit the photos somehow. So apologies for the roughness in writing and please suspend your disbelief. I hope you enjoy!





	1. Take 1

[photo prompt](https://jonsa-creatives.tumblr.com/post/163754139163/hi-hi-i-am-willing-to-play)

 

“It is not to your liking, is it?” asked Doniphos.

The old man plied him with women, men, children, including a boy who looked so like a young Satin that he wanted to gag, but he just gritted his teeth throughout. Jon did not understand even when his host said that they lived to serve. They were to be gifts, for the Dragon Queen and for him, her nephew, crown prince and heir. Each had golden skin that glittered underneath their filmy shifts, dark eyes rimmed with kohl with a tiny teardrop, and such full lips, permanently red stained. They presented him with flowers that looked like the sun.

Then he was presented sickening sweet red wine and cold syrupy beet soup. They also presented him the newest delicacy, a flat bread covered with red tomato sauce and melted gooey cheese covered with more of their famous sweet beets, overripe figs and thinly sliced spicy blood sausages. He downed the drink and food, remembering well how starved he and his warriors, and their women and children, were during the Longest Night. Father always told him and his siblings to waste not - he now understood the import of such words. The vile sweet taste never left his mouth even when the rich wine and dishes were also given to “his” slaves.

“I am from the North,” he grunted. He could not offend an early supporter of his Queen and whose trade deals continued to support her. She turned a blind eye to what fed their hungry, as Father did towards the Boltons.

The heavily perfumed man smiled and waved his hands. Like his host, Jon was lifted up into a litter and carried down a narrow flight of stairs that wound down to a cavern. Each step down, the temperature dropped until it almost felt like he was at home. He closed his eyes and almost felt the gentle snow flakes on his face.

When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see the Hound, clad in furs, staring at him defiantly. The giant man was covering with his cloak a young woman. Unlike the gifts given to him, the scarred man’s face had no markings, nothing to show that he was owned.

Without a warning, the fur cloak was lifted, and a beautiful spirit spun and glided on the icy floor of the cavern. She wore a small shift that did nothing to cover to her body, but instead accentuated her curves.

The cave was hushed but for their heavy breathes, cold puffs, as they all stared at awe at the vision before them. Her hair was a red flame - his body felt enflamed. With each leap and spin, he forgot himself, why he was here, an envoy for his Queen. He only knew that he needed her. He had to have her.

When she finished her last spin and came to a stop, her long hair no longer covered her face.

 _Sansa_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my second attempt at filling the photo prompt. I decided to focus on Sandor and the map of Volantis.

He knew he was staring again. She was like a siren, her unbound flowing red hair drawing his eyes to her womanly figure that underneath her fur cloak was even here, in the wintry tundras of the North, barely covered by artfully placed colorful scarves, the fashion of Volantis he heard. 

She looked almost wild, untamed, free from the societal conventions and norms he knew she was taught when young. Jon faintly recalled a sweet little lady, his half sister, the widow of his half brother his mind reminded him, but his lower half snarled only half as he hungrily looked upon her.

Others also stared but they all desisted and backed away after seeing her Sword, the Hound, who actually looked more fearsome than when he arrived with the then Royal family many years ago. He already run through a wildling who tried to touch her round pert bottom.

Jon did not like the way she interacted with the Hound, the intimate way she leaned unto him, whispering something that made the giant warrior snort, her hand on the man’s large muscled arm, gentling him and his hold on his broad sword. Even when her late husband Aegon was alive, she was never as openly affectionate with the silver prince as she was with the Hound. Only for the scarred giant did she grace them with her smiles and giggles. He noticed that whenever she looked lost, staring at the burnt ruins of their childhood home, the headless statues of wolves, the Hound would hold her tiny hand, and her head would lift up again, resolute and defiant.

He was jealous of the Hound, who wore a leather collar, like the ones they leashed their hounds, but it had no chain. Yet Jon longed to be chained to her, literally and figuratively, to be her beast to order about, to pet.

He heard the stories that she lay with the giant, that the Hound roughly took her from behind, making her howl. And yet, even when his tent was next to hers, her late husband slept alone as was the way of the Golden Company, Jon never heard anything, but for quiet gasps which were quickly silenced by a man’s rumbling voice. “Little Bird” he swore he heard.

And now he stood before her, their combined forces defeating the White Walkers and the wights. They both suffered losses, including her husband, a brother he barely knew.

“King of the North,” the Hound barked at him, awakening from his stupor. Jon blinked and turned towards the man who was rolling his eyes.

Jon stumbled forward and kneeled before her, as she placed a matching fur-lined cloak of direwolves and dragons on his shoulders.

“I am yours, and you are mine.”


End file.
